


Blond Ponytail

by Savannah_Vee



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: American Football, High School, M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savannah_Vee/pseuds/Savannah_Vee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'All I can see of him is longish, dirty blond colored hair tied back in a ponytail…' And Edward isn't even mildly interested in the new guy – that is, until he actually sees the guy's face…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Who the fuck is he?"

Glancing up from my lunch to get a look at who Emmett is currently glaring at, I spot some guy at a table at the other end of the cafeteria, sitting opposite Rosalie Hale.

He's new, I guess, seeing as Emmett doesn't know who he is, and I don't think I've seen him before.

I shrug. Take a huge bite out of my chicken sandwich, chew a little, swallow, chew some more, talk with my mouth half full. "Dunno. Never seen him."

I'm not even mildly interested in the guy and who he is, to be honest.

I mean, he's just another unlucky son-of-a-bitch that Emmett seems to be pissed at for whatever reason – and Emmett's always fucking pissed at someone, or something. They don't call it 'roid rage' for nothing.

We can't even see the guy's face.

He's sitting with the cheerleaders, and if Emmett hadn't pointed him out to me I probably would have mistaken him for one of them. All I can see of him is longish, dirty blond colored hair tied back in a ponytail.

Emmett's still looking over at their table – scowling now – and it makes me curious.

So I glance up again.

I see Rosalie Hale giggling uncontrollably, her hand daintily covering my mouth, like whatever she's laughing at is the funniest fucking thing she's ever heard.

And now, Rosalie Hale's grabbing the guy's ponytail and she's… she's _stroking_ it, playing with it, her fingers twisting it round and round…

Well, damn, no wonder Emmett's going apeshit over here.

I'm not even surprised when he nearly jumps out of his chair and sprints over to their table. I mean, I wouldn't blame the guy if he did. I wouldn't want my girl all cozying up to another guy like that right in front of me. Emmett somehow manages to restrain himself though, a fist curling up into a white knuckled ball as he spits, " _the fuck is she doing?_ "

"She's tryna get a rise out of you, dude. Don't take the bait," I say – though my words are probably already too late.

You see, Emmett McCarty, Forks high Spartans Quarterback, and Rosalie Hale, Head Cheerleader, and self titled, 'Queen Bee' have a very… _volatile_ relationship. They're either constantly fighting, or they're broken up, or they're back together again, or they're on 'a break'. I can't keep up with, or give a shit about their relationship status – so I don't bother trying to.

I guess they're either broken up or on another 'break' right now though.

Emmett's fuming. His nostrils flare as he cranes his thick neck from one side to the other, trying to get a look at the guy's face.

"Fuck! See if you can see him, E."

I roll my eyes. Take a swig from my bottle of water. "Just ignore them, man."

He ignores _me_ instead. Continues, "You can probably get a good look from where you're sitting. Maybe if you lean back or something –"

Rosalie Hale's throaty laugh suddenly penetrates the constant background noise of the cafeteria.

I glance over at her table to find her looking even cozier with blond guy, head thrown back as she laughs. His back is still to us, but he's clearly laughing too – broad-looking shoulders shaking under a blue t shirt.

"She's doing it on purpose," Emmett mutters, his jaw line pulsing with the strain of his clenched teeth. `

As if in answer, Rosalie Hale leans across the table to whisper in blond guy's ear. Her bluish-grey eyes flicker over in Emmett's direction as she does – and she smirks.

Emmett's fist comes down – hard – causing wary, puzzled glances from the other guys we're sitting with, and shaking our table so hard the cutlery jumps. He also manages to knock my bottle of water over in the process – spilling it all over the front of my pants.

"Aw, fuck!" I leap up out of my chair as the icy water quickly penetrates the denim of my jeans, damn near freezing my balls. "Christ, Em, you really need to lay off those fucking things," I hiss, furiously, pointlessly, brushing water droplets off my crotch with the back of my hand. "Now I'm gonna have to walk around for the rest of the day feeling like I've fucking pissed myself or something." Thank fuck my jeans are a dark wash so it's not too noticeable. "Shit."

"Sorry," he murmurs, distracted, not even having the courtesy to look at me as he apologizes, still needlessly torturing himself watching Rosalie Hale.

The bell rings.

I pick up my backpack and sling it over a shoulder. "Don't forget, Coach said we've got practice after school today instead of tomorrow," I say, briefly meeting the eyes of the other guys at our table, who all nod.

Emmett's not even listening, oddly fixated on the two blonds seated at the table across the cafeteria.

"Emmett."

His eyes reluctantly swing to mine, dark eyebrows a tightly drawn curtain above them. "What?" he growls.

"Practice. After school."

"I fucking heard you."

-x-

That blond guy happens to be in my World History class.

And yeah, he's new alright.

He's definitely new, because there's no fucking way I would have missed him if he wasn't.

I'm already at my desk when he shows up, about five minutes late for class. It hasn't started yet anyway; Mrs. Platt is only just getting out her lesson plan.

He saunters casually through the open door, hands stuffed into the pockets of a navy blue hoody he wasn't wearing in the cafeteria, books tucked in his left armpit, no backpack in sight – and _shit_.

The guy is fucking… _pretty_? I'm not even sure if that's the best word to describe him. His tan face is smooth, trimmed blond sideburns being the only trace of facial hair I can see. His lips are exceptionally pink, so pink I have to wonder if he's wearing some kind of lip gloss on them or something. His hair is parted in the middle, and some strands of it have fallen out of the ponytail and tucked behind his left ear – where a tiny silver hoop earring glints.

And I just… stare at him.

His eyes are large, and really blue, and they narrow as they briefly dart around the room from under blond lashes – before unexpectedly pausing as they land on mine.

And still, I just… stare at him.

He stares back –

My eyes quickly shift away.

I twiddle my pen a little. Randomly draw a circle in my notebook. Blush hard.

My eyes can't help shifting back.

And again – they meet his.

There's this… this _tightening_ in my throat, and it gets a little less easy to breathe. I find myself needing to take faster breaths to compensate.

He grins: an unhurried, deliberate curving of his pink lips. A slight lifting of his cheekbones.

And I don't like it.

His grin is… _loaded_. It's taunting, it's a grin that says, ' _I know what you are_ ', though how _can_ he know just by looking at me? Am I just being paranoid or what?

Sweat beads my forehead; throat feels like I just swallowed a bucket of sand.

I drop my eyes.

I feel him walk past and ease into the desk adjacent to mine.

My palms are damp as I grip my pen and attempt to make notes.

-x-

I can't fucking stop myself from looking at the guy.

I see him in my periphery, tipping back on his chair.

His left hand makes hurried movements over his notebook as he writes.

His head lifts as he glances at the board, drops as he looks at his notes.

Strands of his hair fall forward into his eyes, and his left hand stops writing, his pen still in hand, as he reaches up to tuck them back behind his ear.

The fingers of his right hand absently scratch at his jaw.

His Vans occasionally tap a silent beat.

The bell rings and I'm probably the first to stand up.

I just… feel the need to get the fuck away from this dude – and fast – because honestly, I can't stop looking at him and either he or someone else is going to notice that.

I pack my shit, throw my backpack over my shoulder, and I'm out of that class like a –

"Had a little accident there?"

The voice is low, sort of husky; there's a smile in his slightly southern tone.

I spin around to find blond guy hot on my heels. So close, in fact, I have to take a step back.

My eyes involuntarily roam the length of his body.

_Fuck._

"What?"

He inclines his head at my crotch, eyebrows lifting to punctuate the movement, pink lips pressed into a line – like he's fighting a smile.

My face now scorching, I glance down at myself.

_Christ._

My fingers reach for my hair. I grab a fistful; run a hand through the mess. It's a nervous habit.

Blond dude's blue eyes follow my hand to my head, where they pause. He blinks once, twice, and then they drop back to my face – his lips still pressed tight.

It's everything I can do to stop myself from covering my crotch with my palms.

Because, yeah, my pants are still damp from the spill, but there's no way a person would notice the damp patch on my crotch, seeing as my jeans are a dark wash – unless they'd been paying close attention to that area…

And _fuck my life_ , there's also my growing erection, which is now beginning to press against the denim…

I drop my hand from my hair, toe the floor awkwardly, shove my hands in my jeans pockets – only to quickly yank them out when I realize it just highlights the problem, feel my face practically _melting_ with embarrassment.

"Yeah, I know." My voice sounds so quiet when paired with my now thundering heartbeat. "I err, spilled some water on my pants at lunch. Thanks for the heads up anyway."

He nods, finally lets a small smile permeate his pink lips, _snorts._ "No problem."

I turn away, desperate to get the hell away from this mortifying moment, to get the hell away from him – and hear a low chuckle.

A quick glance over my right shoulder and –

The guy's fucking _laughing_ at me.

-x-

"Oh, what? No fucking way."

Emmett's elbow digs sharply into my side.

I hiss. "Fuck, Em. _What_?"

"It's that jerkoff from lunch."

My head snaps up of its own accord – and there he is.

About five minutes late yet again, and sauntering over to the bench where we're sitting, dressed in practice gear: white Spartan practice jersey, shoulder pads, knee pads, cleats, helmet in hand.

My eyes gravitate towards the noticeable bulge in his tight pants.

" _Shit._ "

"Tell me about it," Emmett concurs.

The guy reaches the bench and settles on the end of it, casually placing his helmet on the grass by his feet, leaning back, thighs apart, like he's been doing this his whole life.

I find myself staring at him again.

Jesus, I can't fucking help it.

Luckily though, I'm not the only one staring now.

There was a general lull in conversation as he'd approached, and now the whole team is shooting him curious, questioning glances – glances he seems completely oblivious to.

He keeps his gaze forward, padded shoulders relaxed against the wall.

Emmett's elbow digs into my side again.

"He can't be on the fucking team," he mutters gruffly. "Banner didn't say anything about a new guy."

Coach Banner chooses that moment to turn up, in his usual attire: loose khaki slacks, long sleeved polo shirt. He adjusts his blue Spartans cap over his thinning hairline and clears his throat to speak.

"Season's about to start, as we all know, and since Biers is definitely out for the count –"

"What, for good?" Jacob Black interrupts.

Coach Banner shoots him a fleeting glare. "Yep, for good. His leg's messed up in three places. No way will that boy be playing football, or any sport for that matter, ever again. It's a damn shame."

There's a quiet murmur of sympathetic curses scattered around the bench.

Impulsively, my eyes flicker over to the new guy.

He's grinning.

"The fuck's he smiling at?" Emmett mutters.

Coach Banner clears his gravel laced throat again, and the team shuts up. "Anyway, since Biers won't be joining us again, we've got someone new to replace him."

All heads, including Coach Banner's, turn to the new guy.

He stands up, – still grinning – ambles over to coach Banner, who claps him on the shoulder pad with a wide grin of his own.

"Jasper Whitlock has just transferred here from Austin."

 _Jasper Whitlock's_ blue eyes scan the bench – until they land on me. They linger a moment, and then he looks away.

I rake my fingers through my hair.

It's starting to feel a little hot out here, despite being barely fifty degrees…

"Now, normally we'd have tryouts to recruit new players. But Whitlock," Coach claps him on the shoulder again, "is the best player Austin high school ever had. His coach back there called me, told me I _had_ to have him on the team when he transferred. So I went over to Austin for a couple days last semester to watch a few of his games." Coach smiles – and it's the type of smile proud fathers reserve for their sons, the type of smile I've never seen on his face before. "And he sure as shit didn't disappoint. So here he is."

Jasper Whitlock doesn't even seem fazed by all the attention. He stands straighter, scratches at his smooth jaw a little, and speaks in that husky, slight Southern inflected voice:

"Uh, yeah, I'm pretty excited to join the Spartans." He grins, blue eyes sweeping the bench. "Heard you guys know how to kick some ass."

There are snickers and chuckles, and then Jacob Black, who can never keep his mouth shut, yells, "You heard right, cowboy!" which leads to more chuckles.

Then everyone's getting up and strapping on their helmets, and smacking Jasper Whitlock on the ass with a, "welcome to the team, Whitlock," as they jog to the middle of the football field to begin warm ups.

Emmett and I hang back, – though I doubt Emmett's hanging back for the same reason I am...

He stalks up to Jasper Whitlock, twice as burly and twice as intimidating in all his football gear. He doesn't stop until he's practically nose to nose with the guy.

"I don't give a shit if you're 'supposedly' the best fucking football player on the planet, you fuck with my girl again and I break your fucking legs. Got it?"

Whitlock frowns, scratches at his jaw, shrugs a shoulder. "Whatever."

Apparently satisfied with this reaction, Emmett straps on his helmet and jogs away – leaving only me and _Jasper Whitlock_ still standing by the bench.

And I can't, for the life of me, get my fucking legs to move.

I crouch down instead, untie the laces on my cleats and tie them tighter, _hope_ that Jasper Whitlock has fucked off by the time I stand up again.

No such luck.

He's still standing there – eyeing me carefully.

I sniff. Run a damp, shaky hand through my hair. Frown. "What?"

He shrugs. "Nothin', just thought I'd wait for you, is all."

My _whole body_ starts prickling with perspiration. What is _with_ that?

We begin walking towards the others who have now started their warm ups.

Our shoulders bump occasionally. I _try_ to ignore it.

"Edward Cullen, right?" He enunciates each syllable of my name meticulously.

It sounds… _nice_ , the way he says it. Sounds… pretty fucking hot actually.

_Shit._

I look at him with furrowed brows. "How'd you know my name?"

"You're in my World History class." A ghost of a smile lingers on his mouth.

My _eyes_ linger on his mouth…

"Oh yeah, right."

"But…" The ghost of a smile fleshes out. "I've also heard your name quite a lot around school."

"Oh yeah?" I keep my face forward, blush like a girl, _hope_ like hell he's not looking at me. "All good things, I hope."

When he remains silent I can't help but turn to look at him again.

He's grinning, and from my close proximity I can see he has light _dimples_ in his tan cheeks…

_Shit._

"What's funny?"

His eyes slowly slide to their corners to look at me.

"I heard you're the fastest Running Back Forks high has ever had."

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can manage – but fuck, it's difficult. My face is on fire. "I guess," I reply. My hand seeks out my hair, finds it, ruffles the shit out of it.

"Well, guess what?" His grin widens, those pink lips of his parting to reveal straight white teeth. "I was the fastest Running Back Austin high ever had."

This annoys the piss out of me.

"Good for you," I answer, terse, teeth clamped. "Shame you ain't _in_ Austin high anymore."

He shrugs, turns around to face me so he's walking backwards. "Yeah, but you know what?" He pulls his helmet on, straps it. " _I'm_ gonna be the fastest Running Back Forks high has ever had." I see those white fucking teeth of his through the slits in his helmet, which tells me grinning again.

And then he's turned around, and he's jogging away from me before I can even _begin_ to think of a response, and I'm totally fucking pissed at the audacity and fucking _ego_ of the guy – yet…

I'm also unable to tear my eyes away from the way his muscular ass is flexing in those tight pants.

_Shit._

-x-

The fucking locker room.

This place used to be a personal hellhole for me. I mean, Christ, a guy going through puberty and being surrounded by guys who apparently have no qualms about walking around buck naked in front of a bunch of other guys, is a fucking _nightmare_.

Actually, let me rephrase that.

A _gay_ guy going through puberty and being surrounded by a bunch of naked guys is a fucking nightmare.

I swear, I had to hide my boner after every single PE class for two years straight, and I actually didn't find the guys in the class particularly attractive. It was just… pretty fucking obvious what called my cock to attention – and pussy definitely wasn't it.

I'm about, ninety nine percent sure I'm gay.

Actually, I'm more like, ninety nine point nine percent sure I'm gay.

However, no one but me is aware of that fact.

The reason for that is not because I'm in denial about it or because I'm confused or I'm ashamed of it or anything deep like that. I just figured there's no point in coming out now.

I'm gay, but I've never actually _been_ with a guy.

Really, the only reason I _know_ I'm gay is because, from about the age of fourteen, catching a glimpse of a guy's wang would get me harder than a steel rod, whereas a nice pair of tits or a pussy never garnered that reaction. I jerked off to fantasies where I made out with androgynous faces, though the bodies in my fantasies were all boob and vagina free, and not to mention well hung. And then, when I grew out of the imagination stage, gay porn sites were my pastime.

Girls do nothing for me. I mean, I _tried_ to get into chicks, I really did. I made out with girls; I groped their tits and fondled their pussies, but the most it ever got me was a semi, and that never lasted long. I've fucked girls, and while it does feel good, the only way I can keep my dick up is if I fuck them from behind. I mean, I do think some girls are pretty and whatever, they just… don't interest me.

I've had crushes on a few guys over the years, but crushes were all they were, and I got over them relatively quickly.

So you see, what's the point in coming out?

It won't make much of a difference, I mean, it's not like I'm gonna start dating guys and stuff if I do come out, 'cause there's not really anyone in Forks I _want_ to date. Hell, are there even any other gay guys – openly gay, that is – in Forks? So I figure I'll just hide out in my metaphorical closet for the rest of my high school life, and do the whole 'coming out' thing in college.

But this fucking locker room is gonna out me.

I don't get hard-ons over guys in the locker room much these days, seeing as I'm eighteen now, and the occasional one doesn't bother me. I mean, every guy has one in the locker room every once in a while – not that I'm always looking at other guys' dicks or anything…

But fuck me, Jasper Whitlock is in this fucking locker room now, doing the whole, 'walking around stark naked and not giving a shit about who sees his junk' routine that I've gotten used to over the years from the other guys.

The thing is, like I said, I don't find any of the other guys attractive.

And, well, I find Jasper Whitlock a fuck more than just attractive.

"Cullen."

He's standing right before me, clad only in a small white towel wrapped around his hips, tan skin all glistening wet from the shower, that fucking ponytail of his darker and slicked back with water.

His body is long, lean, muscular, broad shoulders to top it off and _shit_ , it's so fucking hard to keep my eyes on just his face.

"What do you want?"

I turn away from him in order to control my roaming eyes, angling my hips – I'm only wearing boxers myself – away from his body, and opening my locker door to hide the piece of wood I'm sporting, currently hanging off my groin.

Whitlock's lips twitch – like he's fighting a laugh. He raises his eyebrows as he asks,

"Nervous?"

My heart rate spikes at the question. "About what?"

He leans his muscled forearm against the row of lockers, moves so he's standing closer to me. "About the fact that I'm gonna be taking your position real soon."

Anger licks through my veins like fire and I find myself fisting air. This guy really knows how to rile me up. I'm breathing hard as I turn my head to the side to look at him – and our faces are only inches apart.

"In your fucking dreams, buddy."

He snorts, lips curled in a smirk that accentuates his dimples. Blue eyes lock with mine, wander down to my mouth, smirk fades –

And suddenly I'm breathing hard for a completely different reason.

My cock throbs, grows harder, _strains_ through my boxers.

Eyes still on my mouth, he murmurs,

"We'll see."

-x-

I tear off my helmet; aggressively toss it on the locker room floor.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Whitlock stands there: cool, calm, shit eating grin plastered on his pretty face. And it makes me so fucking mad I wanna hit something. Preferably him.

"C'mon," he says, eyebrows raised in amusement. "I could make that run faster than you could. And we ended up scoring a touchdown, right?"

My index finger stabs at my chest furiously as I growl, " _I'm_ the fucking Running Back, ok? I've always _been_ the fucking Running Back, and I'm gonna _stay_ the fucking Running Back, got it?"

Whitlock's blue eyes roll. He quirks an eyebrow. "Jesus, you sound like a spoiled five year old. And there can be _two_ Running Backs on a football team. Jus' sayin'."

Before I even realize it, my hand is around the guy's throat and I've pushed him back, flat against the lockers.

Breathing so hard my chest heaves under all my football gear, there's a long moment of thick tension, in which we stare at each other in dead silence.

The guy fucking _tackled me_. He's on the same team as me and he actually shoved me, took the fucking ball off me, and continued sprinting down the field like it was no big deal. So I got mad and tackled _him,_ taking him down. Then coach got between us before I could throw a punch, and we both got sent off.

Which was a pretty dumb idea because now I can beat the crap out of him without disturbance.

I wanna punch him in his cocky, smug face, wipe that teasing smirk off his lips, erase the amused twinkling in his eyes – yet at the same time...

I can't help noticing how fucking smooth the skin of his neck feels under my fingers, how fucking blue his eyes are, how fucking long his blond eyelashes are, how fucking _plump_ his pink lips look…

And again, I start breathing hard for a completely different reason.

And he's breathing hard too.

And our chests are touching.

And our eyes remained connected, locked in an intense stare.

And then one corner of those lips lifts up, and those sexy-as-fuck dimples of his appear on his tan cheeks.

And he whispers, "This is the part where you kiss me."

I blink rapidly. My hand releases his neck, reaches for my hair instead. My face burns. "What?"

His smile is a lazy one, eyelids drooping as he says, "You know. We fight, tensions get high, and we end up kissing, tearing off our clothes, having hot, angry sex against the lockers..."

And just like that, I feel myself getting hard, the scenario playing out vividly in my head.

"Fuck you," I spit.

He leans his head back against the lockers, so he's looking down his nose at me, lazy eyes barely open. "Yeah, that's kinda the idea," he says, his voice low, rough. That plump pink bottom lip of his disappears under his top teeth, and he just stands, staring at me, sexy as hell, and _Jesus_ , I don't know what to do with myself.

I take a step back, out of his proximity.

He snickers quietly through his nose, continues huskily, "What's the matter, Cullen? Does that sound a little too appealing? Afraid you might actually do it if you stand too close?"

I don't answer. I _can't_ answer. My throat feels tight again, and all I can do is breathe – hard and fast.

His blue eyes travel down my body, and the way he does it makes me feel _naked_. His eyes linger on my groin. His hand palms his own groin. Eyes travel back up to meet mine again.

Then he's taking a slow, deliberate step towards me –

The sound of the other guys' heavy footsteps pounding down the hall causes my head to snap in the direction of the doorway.

And when I turn back to him – he's gone.

A few seconds later I hear the shower running.

-x-

So, Whitlock's gay.

Well, I _think_ he's gay. I mean, my gaydar is pretty much nonexistent. But after what he said to me in the locker room the other day, the way he _looked_ at me…

Shit, I get hard just thinking about it.

"…to get back together. Told her I'd think about it. If she thinks she's gonna get me back that easily after that stunt she pulled…"

" _You know. We fight, tensions get high, and we end up kissing, tearing off our clothes, having hot, angry sex against the lockers..."_

"Dude, you listening to me?"

Emmett's elbow in my ribs snaps me out of my daydreams.

"What the fuck, man?"

"What is with you today?"

"Nothing's with me, I just don't want my ribs fucking cracked. Stop doing that."

Emmett briefly glances at me from the side of his eye, before concentrating on the road again. "Nah, something's definitely up. You seem… _distracted._ " He inclines his head towards me. "Not to mention the fact that you're sporting a pretty obvious boner, which is sort of weirding me the fuck out right now."

My hands fly to my crotch. My face turns into a furnace. "Shit."

"So, who're you thinking about?"

"No one."

Emmett snorts. Rolls his eyes. "That's bullshit. C'mon, man, spill!"

I roll my eyes. Ignore him. Keep my palms covering my 'situation'.

"Fine, don't tell me who she is," he says. He shrugs. "I'll probably find out soon enough anyway."

-x-

Emmett and I are standing in Jacob Black's kitchen, sipping on bottles of Bud when Jasper Whitlock shows up.

Late to the party, as usual.

His eyes dart around, like he's looking for someone – and stop when they find me.

I look away.

"I can't stand this guy," Emmett mutters. He raises the bottle to his lips. Lowers it. "Thinks the sun shines out of his fucking ass or something."

Involuntarily, my eyes travel to Whitlock's ass.

He's turned around, making small talk with some other guys from the team, and his ass in his jeans is just…

The 'situation' in my own jeans begins to stir again.

I place my bottle on the counter. Take a deep breath. Discreetly adjust/squeeze myself. "Bathroom. I'll be right back."

Emmett nods.

I hurry out of the kitchen, dash up the stairs, duck into the bathroom and slam the door shut.

Leaning against it, my hands tremble as they fumble with the button and zipper on my pants, and then I pull my jeans down a little, wrap my hand around myself, pull out of my boxers and sag against the door in relief.

Immediately, my hand is working up and down the length of my dick, my brain turns to mush and all I can do is _feel_ the pleasure: The goosebumps rising on my arms. The pleasurable friction on my cock. Giving in to that urge to thrust my hips.

My shallow breaths begin to leave my mouth accompanied with groans, my eyes close; my fist tightens as I pump faster.

There's a knock on the door – and I freeze.

Another knock.

Just as I'm about to answer, the knob turns and the door is pushing against my back.

" _Shit._ Err, hold on a sec, I'm nearly done."

The person stops turning the knob, stops pushing the door.

Wincing, I carefully stuff my now _painfully_ hard cock back into my pants. Adjust it. Check my appearance in the mirror opposite. Open the door –

To find Jasper Whitlock standing on the other side.

He eyes me from head to toe, _painstakingly_.

And I feel naked again.

Then his palm is on my chest and he pushes me back into the bathroom.

He slams the bathroom door, turns the lock, leans against it – _smiles_ at me, wide, all white teeth and dimples.

"You know, if you're gonna go jerk off in the bathroom at a party, you might wanna lock the door first."

"How'd you –"

He's suddenly standing an inch before me, cutting off all coherent thoughts and speech, his chest pressed against mine – and he's no longer smiling. His blue eyes burn into mine, eyelids droop, pink lips part so I feel his hot breath against my face.

"So, Cullen." His voice is rough. Husky. _Sexy as fuck._ "You ever been kissed by a guy before?"

"No."

His palm runs up my jaw. He cups my cheek. His thumb brushes against my skin.

"Why not?"

I swallow thickly, and my voice is hoarse as I reply through shallow breaths. "I… I don't know."

Whitlock's other hand reaches for my face. "Do you _wanna_ be kissed by a guy?"

I nod.

And he steps back, taking me with him, my face still in his palms. Then he turns, pushes my back against the bathroom door. Presses the full length of his body against mine.

He shifts his hips against me a little – and I _feel_ him. Hard. Hot. _Hung like a horse._

"Jesus," I breathe.

And he smirks.

"It's _Jasper_ ," he whispers, as he leans forward.

And then our bodies our connected from lips to hips.

His tongue is immediately in my mouth, pumping in and out, as his hips thrust against me to the same rhythm. I feel the tip of his soft tongue rubbing against mine as the tip of his hard cock mimics the movement. I feel the vibrations in his chest as he groans into my mouth – or wait – maybe it's the vibrations from _my_ chest, maybe _I'm_ the one groaning. His lips are soft, but nowhere near gentle as he sucks at mine vigorously, hands travelling from my face down to my nape, fingers burying into my hair.

He pulls back, panting, his hand still stroking my hair, hips still undulating against mine. Then he grins. Pulls back his hips. Stares silently at me, eyelids heavy with lust.

I clear my throat. Swallow air. Take in a deep breath. "How'd you know?"

"That you're gay?"

I nod.

He snickers. "Apart from the way you eyefuck me every time you see me? And the woody you were sporting that time in the locker room?" He shrugs. "Lucky guess."

I roll my eyes. "Real fucking fu –"

I inhale sharply as he pushes his still rock hard cock into mine, and he takes advantage of my open mouth by shoving his tongue in it.

I groan. Lift a hand to his head. Tug on that damn ponytail.

"Fuck, yeah," he moans against my lips.

His left hand reaches for my face again and he pulls his head back slightly, only far enough so our noses still touch, so our lips brush when he speaks:

"So, Cullen, you ever been touched by a guy before?"

This time he doesn't bother waiting for my reply before his lips are pushed against mine again, his tongue fucking my mouth, his hand travelling down my stomach…

And I gasp; just about cream myself when I feel his hand palming me through my jeans, my hips bucking into his hand desperately.

" _Jasper…_ "

"Edward," he replies, sucking on my jaw line. "You like that?"

" _Yeah…_ "

Both his hands travel to my groin, his lips planting kisses along my jaw, along my neck, along my collarbone, and I feel him unzipping and unbuttoning my jeans.

And then –

"Oh, _God._ Holy… Fuck…"

His hand begins stroking me, slowly at first. His palm circles my head, causing me to shudder every time it does. My stomach clenches. Eyes roll back. I'm groaning uncontrollably. Hips thrusting wildly –

His hand moves faster.

Knees start to shake. My hand grips his ponytail, tugs hard. Eyes squeeze shut. Eyebrows push together. Lips part. Breathing becomes erratic. Hips jerk irregularly –"

And I come.

And fuck, it feels good. So good. So fucking good I bury my face in his smooth, tan neck as my hips freeze in his hand, and I groan, loud and unabashed, and my lips can't help pressing soft kisses against him, and I should probably be embarrassed that I barely lasted five minutes, but I'm not because _fuck,_ it felt so good, and his neck smells so good, and his skin feels so warm, and I feel fucking awesome, like I'm on E or something.

I feel his chest pressed against mine, feel his hand in my hair, stroking me, and we're silent for several minutes.

Then he chuckles. "How was that?"

My head feels too heavy to lift, so I mumble into his neck.

"Awesome."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

We're silent again for a while.

Then,

"So, Cullen, you ever been fucked by a guy before?"

My head snaps back at that, eyes meeting his, to find that he looks deadly serious – no hint of a smirk this time.

"No," I whisper, my heart starting to race.

"Do you _wanna_ be fucked by a guy?"

All I can do is nod.

Then he does smile, dimples appearing lightly in his cheeks.

"C'mon," he says. Scratches at his jaw. Hooks an arm around my neck. "My car's parked outside."

When I frown at him, questioning, he snorts.

"I'm not gonna fuck you in here. Are you nuts? We'll go to my house."

We leave the bathroom, go down the stairs, slip past the living room, where Emmett and the other guys on the team are hanging out, and out the front door into the cool night air.

On the drive to his house, 'cause honestly, my gaydar is so shit I'm _still_ not sure about this, I ask him,

"So… are _you_ gay?"

He smirks, keeps his eyes focused on the road, shakes his head, crinkles his nose a little.

"Nah, I just like fucking Running Backs, you know? Just to say I can."

I tug on that fucking ponytail of his.

He laughs.

-x-


	2. Chapter 2

Whitlock's slanted in the doorway of his bedroom: arms folded across his chest, head tilted to one side, pink lips curled lightly in a lazy grin.

He's staring at me.

And fuck, I feel so self-conscious right now, it's not even funny.

What the hell was I thinking, coming back to his house with him? I can't let him _fuck_ me, I mean, Jesus, doesn't that shit hurt? My ass has never had as much as a pinky finger shoved up it, and I haven't _seen_ the guy's dick – well, not properly anyway – but going by what I felt of it through his pants?

Wow.

And ouch.

Christ, he's still staring at me.

I know I'm blushing like crazy right now, and I feel like a fucking _virgin girl_ just sitting on his bed all nervous and shit.

Trying to look at anything else but him and his blond ponytail, my eyes dart around his room. I look over to the window. To the wall opposite his bed. To the shelf where numerous trophies and awards stand, proudly on display. To the doorway – where he's standing…

_Shit!_

Seriously, what the hell was I thinking? The hand job he gave me in Jacob Black's bathroom must have gotten me high or something.

And _great_ , thinking about _that_ is making me even more tomato faced. And hard.

I glance up at him from the corner of my eye.

His grin widens, showing off his even, white teeth.

"What?" I ask, lowering my eyes to my feet.

He snorts. Raises an eyebrow. "Did I say something?"

"No, but why are you looking at me like that?"

He chuckles.

I hear him move away from the doorway, hear his socked feet padding across the laminated floor of his bedroom – and then I'm suddenly staring at them.

He's standing in front of me now, his crotch perfectly leveled with my face – with my _mouth._

I swallow so hard my Adam's apple bobs.

And he snickers.

"Relax, Cullen," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The action is obviously deliberate, because it makes his jeans tighter along the front, and _then_ he pushes his hips forward so he's closer to my face – emphasizing the large, cock-shaped bulge protruding at the front of his pants.

_Fuck._

I just jizzed all over his hand about half an hour ago, and yet, I'm harder than a steel rod right now. The thought alone of his dick, just _inches_ before my lips –

His forefinger is suddenly under my chin, and he tilts my head back so I'm looking up at his pretty face. He stares at me again, serious now though, blue eyes slow lidded, pink bottom lip sucked into his mouth.

Christ, he's hot.

So fucking hot I think I groan a little.

"Damn," he murmurs, his Southern twang emphasized. His other hand brushes my hair back from my forehead. "Your blush is a real fucking turn on, you know? Who would have thought that Edward Cullen, Spartans star Running Back, is really a shy, innocent twink?" He chuckles softly then and fists my hair.

"Shit…" I breathe. It feels so good I get goosebumps on my arms, the hairs stand on end.

"Like having your hair pulled, Cullen?" He asks.

I nod.

He smirks. "Me too. Why'd you think I keep the ponytail?"

 _Jesus Christ_ , he's...

"So fucking hot."

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples denting his smooth cheeks. "Yeah? You're pretty fucking hot yourself."

And then he crouches so his _mouth_ is now inches before mine.

His hand still gripping my hair, he leans towards me, lips puckered and pink and pouty, head tilting to one side, eyes closing...

And he kisses me, slowly, languidly, tongue reaching into my mouth and mingling with mine, and his lips are soft and moist and full as they gently press against mine, his chin silky smooth, brushing against my stubbled one.

"Mmmm," he hums.

His other hand snakes behind my neck and he tilts his head more, pushes his tongue deeper into my mouth, kisses me a little rougher, his breathing starts to come out in ragged pants.

And then he pulls back a little so his face is a few inches away.

"Ok, here's the deal," he whispers breathlessly. "As much as I'd love to fuck your tight little ass, right now, you've never done it before, right?"

I nod, face starting to flush again.

"And we've got a game tomorrow," – he smirks – "you're gonna need to be able to run."

 _Shit._ Definitely feeling like a virgin now.

"So…" he continues, "how about _you_ fuck _me_ instead?" He waits a moment, watching my face for my reaction, I guess, before he adds, "just this _once_ though. I don't bottom." He grins. "Much."

I think my jaw drops, because he chuckles, leaning in to kiss me again, shoving his tongue in my mouth, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth.

When he pulls away again, we're both breathless.

"So?" He asks, eyebrows lifting. "You gonna plow my ass, or what?"

_Holy fuck._

My cock throbs in answer to his question.

I swallow. Unintentionally shift my hips a little. My tongue wets my bottom lip. "Ok."

"Good," he replies, bright blue eyes zeroing in on my mouth, on the spot I just licked. "And, since I'm not gonna fuck your pretty little ass," – his index finger reaches out to trace the shape of my lips – "I get to fuck your pretty little mouth instead."

Honestly, I almost cream myself at the thought of that, at his words. This time, I _definitely_ groan a little.

And he groans too.

Then he stands up abruptly, fingers deftly unbuttoning his jeans and tugging down his fly, pulls down his boxers –

And _holy fucking shit._

I've watched a lot of porn. Like, seriously, a fuckload of it. And I've seen a lot of pretty cocks in them, cocks that I look at and think, 'yeah, I'd definitely wanna suck on that,' but _his?_

If it was a _giant_ , cherry flavored blow pop, it couldn't look more tempting.

The guy's dick is fucking… _perfect_.

It's long and straight.

It's pretty thick too.

The head of his cock is a dark pink – same color as his lips actually.

His pubes are all trimmed.

And his balls are like, hairless.

 _Fuck,_ this is making me all self conscious about my junk now. I mean, I _thought_ mine was pretty big, and I don't have a perfect, pornstar-looking cock or anything, but I _thought_ my cock looked good.

But now? Compared to his?

His throaty chuckle snaps me out of my thoughts and my eyes lift to look up at him.

His eyelids are low as he looks back at me, half grinning, left hand reaching for his cock and squeezing. "Jesus, Cullen," he mutters, and my eyes involuntarily drift back down to his cock as his hand begins travelling up and down the long, thick shaft. "What is this, payback for all the times I pissed you off?"

"Huh?" I ask, 'cause that's pretty much as articulate as I can get right now.

He looks down at himself, at his hand fisting his cock, at his hips pushing forward slightly with each stroke, and then he glances back up at me, pointedly, through wisps of blond hair that have fallen out of his ponytail.

"You know," he says. "Staring at my cock doesn't make it suck itself." He winks. "And trust me, I've tried that."

I roll my eyes at that and he grins.

"But, seriously, Cullen, this is the part where you suck my cock. My balls feel like they're about to explode."

And honestly, I'd kind of forgotten that that was what I was meant to be doing in the first place. I can feel my face starting to burn again and I swear, I'm r _eally_ starting to hate my fucking blood.

I don't know how to start, I mean, what do I do? He's already standing up in front of me; I can probably lean forward and easily start sucking on his dick but that probably wouldn't be too comfortable for my neck. I figure I should probably get on my knees.

Slowly, I start to shift off the edge of his bed. My hands are all trembling and clammy so I wipe them on the back of my pants. Whitlock just watches my every move, hand still pumping his cock, hips still thrusting, still fucking his hand – and it's really distracting, by the way.

I get down on my knees in front of him.

"Hold on," he says. His jeans and underwear have fallen around his ankles so he sort of shuffles over to the side of me, reaches for a pillow from his bed, tosses it on the floor before me.

I frown at it. "What's this for?"

He stares at me for a beat longer than necessary, eyelids so low the blue of his eyes are barely visible, hand still stroking away. And then he smirks. "For your knees, twink. That wooden floor can't be too comfortable."

"Oh." I peek up at his face. Clear my throat. "Uh, thanks."

He smiles. "You're real cute, Cullen."

My blood decides to rush to my face again. "Fuck," I mutter.

Whitlock's hand starts to pumps faster. He groans. He's gasping in between words as he says, "You know what I wanna do to you when your face goes all red like that?"

"What?"

"I wanna fuck your mouth, see how red you get when you're choking on my cock. And then I wanna come in your mouth, and all over your face. I wanna see my cum dripping off those rosy cheeks of yours, sliding down your chin. I wanna –" He gasps. Stops jerking for a few seconds. Starts up again at a slower pace. Grins at me. "Shit. Almost came. And that would've been a waste, wouldn't it?"

I moan. My cock answers again, with a twitch that makes me jerk my hips just so I can give it a bit of friction.

And soon, Whitlock's strokes start to get fast again. He can't even talk anymore, I guess, 'cause all he's doing is moaning, letting out the occasional, "oh, yeah", blue eyes rolling back.

I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to be doing now. I'm on a pillow on my knees in front of him and he's jerking off right in front of my face, but I thought I was meant to be sucking him off? I mean, I _want_ to suck him off. I'm so horny right now I don't know what to do with myself.

My hips shift again involuntarily.

Whitlock's eyes are closed now. His head hangs forward instead of tipping back, like mine probably would. He has this sexy half grin on his pink lips.

I watch him as he jerks off, transfixed, hand stroking my own hard, aching cock over my jeans, hips lifting to match his thrusts into his hand.

"Open your mouth."

His voice is low, hoarse with lust, so fucking _sexy_ that I completely ignore what he's saying. I groan, start fumbling with my belt buckle – and am completely taken by surprise when he yanks at my hair.

"Shit!" I cry out. It hurts, but in a really fucking good way.

He keeps his hold on my hair and my eyes are rolling, my jaw drops, I'm moaning in ecstasy –

And then my moan is muffled as Whitlock stuffs his huge cock in my mouth.

I gag, naturally, but it's only because I wasn't ready for it.

"Aw _yeah._ " Whitlock's euphoric moan sounds really fucking Southern – and hot as hell.

I pull back a little, flick my tongue over the smooth skin of his cock. It tastes… salty, I guess, but not bad.

Whitlock is groaning now. His fingers tighten in my hair. His hips thrust ever so slightly.

And I like it. His reaction is the biggest turn on I've ever had.

His hips jerk again, harder this time, and I gag for a second time as his cock reaches the back of my throat.

"Sorry," he murmurs. He stills, fisting my hair like his life depends on it. "I'm _really_ fucking close though."

I lift my palms up, position them at his hips, move them round to his ass…

I feel it, firm, flexing as he thrusts into my mouth yet again. I don't gag this time though.

Instead, I start sucking on his dick, sucking on it like I'd suck on a tootsie pop, hard, my lips wrapping around it, pulling back to the head and pushing forward as far as I can manage, running my tongue back and forth and around, flicking the tip of my tongue in the slit, licking as if it's leaking chocolate.

I've seen this being done in porn tons of times, and sure it turns me on, but that's because I imagine that I'm the one getting sucked off. I never thought it would be so fucking hot to be the one doing the sucking.

But it is. It so fucking is. Especially as Whitlock's legs are starting to tremble, as his abs and ass cheeks start to tighten, as he starts murmuring my name.

I take his dick out of my mouth after a while 'cause my jaw needs a fucking break, but then I start stroking his balls, stroking the space underneath his balls – and I have to hiss before he releases his vice grip on my hair a little.

Then he stuns me again.

Suddenly, he yanks his cock away from my lips, just as I'm about to put it back in my mouth, gives it a few quick pumps, seemingly transferring his vice grip to his shaft.

And then – _oh shit._

I feel a small spurt of warm liquid hit my cheek, and I know what's coming next. Instinctively I close my eyes, even though I'd love to watch his face as he comes, 'cause jizz in your eye stings like a bitch. I should know.

I hear Whitlock jerking it a few more times, feel a few more little drops hit my face –

And he's coming.

All over my face, like he said he would, letting out this deep sigh as he does, holding my head in place so I don't move away. Then, when he's finished spraying what felt like a bucket of cum on my face, I feel the tip of his dick, wet, prodding my closed lips.

"Open up," he murmurs.

I part my lips and he slides his leaking cock over them slowly, side to side, giving me a jizz lipgloss.

"Lick it off," he says.

So I do.

It tastes… I dunno, weird, I guess. But I don't mind it. I mean, fuck, that was the hottest thing I've ever experienced and I haven't even gotten off yet. In fact, I don't actually _mind_ that I haven't gotten off.

I open my eyes to find Whitlock grinning down at me, all dimples and post orgasm flush.

"Wow," he mutters. "Hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. Edward Cullen's face all covered in my cum." His hand, still holding my head by my hair, tilts my face up. "Can I take a picture?"

I shake my head out of his grasp. "Fuck no."

He laughs. "Why not? I'd keep it all to myself –"

"No way."

"Why not?" He asks again.

"Because… I dunno, I just don't feel comfortable with that."

"Scared the guys on the team'll find it?"

I frown. "No."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure." Loses the grin. "You ever gonna come out?"

"Of course I am."

"When?"

"When I'm fucking ready. Now, can you get me something to wipe my face? This shit's starting to dry."

In one swift movement, he tugs his t shirt off over his head and hands it to me.

He steps out of his jeans and boxers and kicks them away.

And then he's fully naked, all lean muscles and tan skin shimmering with sweat.

And my cock reminds me that I haven't gotten off, suddenly pulsing and heavy in my pants.

Whitlock snickers, takes his t shirt back out of my hand. "You're an eye slut," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"You eyefuck too much. If you wanna stay hiding in your little closet you need to make it less obvious."

"What? Am I really that obvious?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "To me you are. But then again, my gaydar's pretty fucking good. Now hold still, my cum's starting to dry on your face – _fuck,_ that sounds hot." He wipes my face with his t shirt, tugs me up by the arms so I stand. My knees ache a little. "You ok?" he asks as I rub at them.

"Knees are a little sore."

"Yeah, imagine if you _didn't_ have the pillow."

He grabs my jeans by the belt loops, tugs me closer with his index fingers, his nose brushing mine.

"Get naked," he whispers.

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm getting all self conscious here, in the nude while you're fully clothed. Being constantly eyefucked like a piece of meat…" He smirks.

I blush. Look down at my feet. Start stuttering out an apology.

"I'm kidding," he interrupts. "I love being eyefucked. I want you to come shower with me."

"Why?"

He sighs. "You ask a lot of fucking questions, Cullen. See this," he grabs my extremely hard and now _painfully_ sensitive cock and I hiss, half out of pleasure, half out of pain. "This needs taking care of, right?"

I nod.

"So get in the fucking shower with me."

-x-


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

The shower feels _really_ good right now as I stand under the stream of warm water – opposite Whitlock.

It's _blissfully_ good as it pelts the top of my head and runs down my spine, _soothingly_ good on my slightly aching knees…

 _T_ _orturously_ good on my still hard and aching cock.

And fuck, Whitlock looks hot.

His hair's out of the ponytail and plastered on his neck, his body's golden, despite him being in Forks for over a month now, and he's all wet and smooth and lean and muscular.

He's soaping up his body now: running the soap and a washcloth over his skin in a circular motion. I watch it, watch his hand as he rubs his body, lather coating his toned abs and his pecs and around his hard, pink nipple…

He laughs. Shakes his head. Continues soaping up his body – slower now, as he brushes over his nipples.

"You're eyefucking me again," he says.

I shake my head a little. "Sorry."

He rolls his blue eyes. "What are you sorry for?" He stops soaping up, looks at me from under his dripping hair. "C'mere."

I take a step forward so there's barely an inch between us.

Whitlock reaches behind me and grabs my ass, his fingers digging into the flesh.

I gasp.

He smirks.

Then he pulls me by the ass so my body is flush against his, so the soap on his chest smears against mine, so my cock presses into his.

And he's hard again.

He tilts his head slightly and leans forward, planting his wet lips on mine, pushing his soft tongue into my mouth, kissing me.

I shift my hips into him, grip his waist as I pull him closer. Groan.

His mouth presses harder against me – just before he pulls back a little, sucking on my bottom lip. He grins and releases my ass, leaning back away from my face.

He starts running the soap over himself again, eyes roaming _my_ body, grin unwavering as he says, "I _really_ wanna fuck you right now." My eyes widen a little and he chuckles, quickly adding, "don't worry, I'm not going to. Well, not _today_ anyway…"

He takes a step towards me again and the tips of our erections touch.

"Turn around," he says.

I turn around, nervous, not knowing what the hell he's doing but so fucking excited, so turned on I'm breathing fast – fast enough to start feeling lightheaded.

His mouth is at my ear. "Relax," he whispers.

His soapy hands go around my waist and he starts soaping me up slowly, running the bar of soap all the way up to my neck and shoulders, and then back down my body, across my pecs and my nipples, the palm of his hand following the soap's trail down my stomach, below my bellybutton –

Wrapping around my cock.

My head involuntarily tips back onto his shoulder at the feel of it and I groan, my body instantly reacting to the contact: hips jerking, skin prickling with pleasure.

His chin is resting on my shoulder as he whispers again, "Relax, Cullen."

And then I feel it.

And there's no way I can relax.

My body tenses up immediately and I lift my head up off his shoulder, instinctively moving my hips forward – away. I don't get far though, because Whitlock's arm is still around my waist, his hand still holding my cock.

The soap is lying on the side of the tub now, and his other hand is between our bodies – between my ass cheeks.

He stops stroking me _there_ when I stiffen, the hand around my cock starting to move slowly up and down the length, and I can't help sagging against him again.

"That's it," he murmurs, his lips brushing my neck as he speaks. "Relax. I'm gonna make you feel good."

"I thought… I thought _I_ was –"

"You are," he interrupts. "I'm just showing you how to get me ready for it… as well as giving you a taste of what it feels like..."

His fingers start caressing the crack of my ass and I tense up again, ass growing rock solid.

He snickers. Slaps my ass a little. "Stop tensing your ass."

"I can't help it."

He sighs, going back to stroking my cock – harder and faster this time.

"Oh… Oh shit," I breathe.

"Feel good?" he murmurs.

" _Yeah_..."

He's pumping my cock hard, and I know I'm not gonna last long if he continues 'cause I've been hard and horny for a long while now. And how am I gonna get to fuck him if I blow my load already?

"Jas – Jasper." I'm panting now.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna come if you keep doing that."

I feel him smile against my neck. "You want me to stop?"

 _No!_ "Yeah…"

"You sure?" he asks – still stroking away.

I respond with a groan –

And his fingers are there again, between my ass cheeks.

The shock of having them there again staves off my orgasm, but I'm too far gone to be able to tense again – and besides, it feels sort of… _good._

He's still jacking me off, slower now though, and then I can only feel _one_ finger, travelling from the crack of my ass all the way down to just underneath my balls, and _fuck me_ it definitely feels good.

"You like that?"

" _Fuck_ yeah…"

He chuckles. "Still want me to stop?"

I groan, shaking my head.

He laughs again, pressing his lips against my neck in a lazy kiss. "That's what I thought."

But then his finger starts… starts _pushing_ into me – and my ass goes into clench mode again.

He stops pushing, carries on caressing, kisses my neck again. "It'll feel good, I promise," he whispers, punctuating his words with gentle strokes.

So I relax, just a little.

And he pushes, just a little further.

And further.

And further.

Until I can feel his whole finger… _inside_ me, and it feels uncomfortable and weird and not really pleasurable –

Until he starts moving it.

" _Christ_."

My knees nearly give out and he has to grab me tightly, steadying me.

He laughs. "See? Feels fucking awesome, right?"

I feel his finger pushing, sliding in and out, the fist of his other hand simultaneously pumping my cock as he does.

His finger curves inside me, and he keeps hitting a spot that makes me shudder every single time, because it feels as if the hairs are rising on my body, like I've got goosebumps all over. It makes my legs start to tremble, makes my cock throb rhythmically and my balls grow tight – and I'm about to come again, even though he's not jacking me off nearly as fast as how I would normally need to be jacked off if I wanted to bust a nut.

And I swear I've never felt something as good as this before. Ok, so I'm not very experienced, but I've had sex with _girls_ a few times in the past, and this? This feels like, ten times better than that and it's _only_ jacking off. How the fuck is that possible? I mean, a finger up my ass makes _that_ much difference? Why haven't I done this before?

"Jasper," I groan. "I can't… Can't… fucking take it…"

 _He_ groans now, I feel him push his cock against my ass, feel his hips start to rotate.

"I know you can't," he breathes. "And it's fucking sexy as hell."

" _Jesus_ … but… but I don't wanna come yet."

"Then don't," he says.

"I can't…"

I don't wanna come because I wanna fuck him, but I don't wanna tell him to stop 'cause this feels too fucking perfect…

And he stops.

I let out a whoosh of breath, doubling over like I've just been kicked in the balls, because honestly, building someone up to an orgasm that intense and then stopping it so abruptly _is_ a fucking kick in the balls. I mean, shit, my balls are even aching.

His voice is a raspy breath in my ear. "Shit. I don't think I can take the teasing anymore either."

I feel his body lean away from me slightly, hear his hand rustling around on the little shelf on the side where the shampoo and body wash and stuff stand.

"Here."

His hand is around my waist again, and he's holding a square foil packet between his index and middle finger.

I take the condom from him with slightly trembling fingers – nervous all over again.

Whitlock grabs my hips. He pushes his hard cock against my ass again, rests his chin on my shoulder.

His lips brush against my earlobe as he murmurs,

"This is the part where you fuck me."

-x-

We trade places, him standing in front of me, his ass against my groin.

"Here." He hands me a small, nondescript white bottle with a pump. Glances over his shoulder at me. Laughs at the confusion probably etched on my face.

"Fuck, you're cute." He shakes his head. "It's lube."

I feel my face burning. "Oh yeah. Right."

I hold the condom in one hand, lube in the other – have no idea how to start this.

Whitlock sighs. Turns around to face me, his cock rubbing up against mine as he does.

He grabs me by the back of my neck and kisses me hard. Grabs the condom off me and opens it. Grabs my cock at the base and rolls the condom on.

"Now you just gotta lube me up, lube up your cock and we're good to go," he says.

I look at the bottle in my hand. Frown. "Won't it… you know, wash off?"

He grins, shaking his head. "It's waterproof."

"Oh. Ok." _Fuck, I'm such a virgin._

His bright blue eyes meet mine. "Ready?" he asks.

I take a deep breath. "Sure."

He turns around again, braces his hands on the wall, bends over a little, ass cheeks parting before me.

I stare at his perfect ass, can't help taking a good look at it – and yep, hairless too.

"Do you wax?"

He looks over his shoulder at me. Snickers. "What?"

Fuck, that was a pretty stupid question. I blush. "I mean, you don't have much hair…"

He snorts. "Yeah, I wax my ass and balls and most of the pubes around my cock. What, you don't like it?"

"No – I mean, yeah, I like it." I grab one of his smooth butt cheeks. Squeeze the taut muscle. "It's hot."

My cock twitches, and I'm suddenly really impatient, suddenly can't wait until I'm buried balls deep inside him.

I pump some of the lube out on my fingers and reach out for his ass again, between his slightly parted cheeks.

As soon as my fingers touch him he hisses, sucking air in through his teeth.

Which only turns me on more.

I begin stroking him, the way I felt him stroking me, making sure to spread the lube around.

He sighs, releases the wall with one hand to reach for his cock, arches his back.

Tentatively, I start pushing my index finger into him, surprised when it slides in pretty easily. I pump my finger in and out, like he was doing to me, and he starts pumping his cock, head tipping back, groaning.

And it's so fucking hot.

"Ah, fuck…" he groans. "Two fingers."

I blink a little. "What?"

"Stick another finger in there," he murmurs.

"Um… Ok."

Slowly, I slide my middle finger into him too, feeling the tight muscle expand slightly, and he groans really loud, the sound causing me to groan in response 'cause, fuck, he sounds sexy as hell.

A few minutes of me sliding my fingers in and out of him, curving them, like I felt him doing to me – and he tells me to stop.

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm tired of the fingers."

"Oh, right."

He grins at me over his shoulder. "Yeah, right. Now, you gonna fuck me properly or what, Cullen?"

I'm impatient again as I pump a little more lube on my hands, rub it over my cock, position it just right.

And then I'm suddenly nervous.

I mean, shit, what if I can't do it right? What if I'm not as good as the other guys he's been with?

I look down at my cock.

Oh _fuck,_ what if I'm not big enough?

"Edward." He's looking at me over his shoulder again.

It kinda surprises me that he's used my first name – mostly turns me on even more if that were possible,

so I do it.

Slowly, I push my cock into him, push past the tight ring of muscle –

_Holy fuck._

I can't hold back the shudder that runs through my body.

It's tight, like, _really_ fucking tight, grabbing hold of my cock like a fist and squeezing it with every inch forward – and it's really warm, like dipping my cock in warm water. I continue pushing all the way in, my body shuddering all over until my hips meet his ass and our balls touch.

And then… I have to stop.

Eyes rolling back, teeth clenched in restraint, hands grasping his hips, I breathe, "Shit, I'm… I'm gonna come."

"Don't move," he says. "Wait a second."

So I don't move for another ten seconds.

When the sensation subsides I start pulling back out.

"Fu –" Whitlock can't even finish speaking, his hand furiously rubbing his cock, head now leaning heavily against the tiled wall.

I push in and pull out slowly, my hips finding a rhythm, cock effortlessly sliding. My eyes roll every time I push in, balls tingle, the tingles gradually spreading all over my body, making my toes curl against the hard enamel.

Shit, I'm not gonna last long.

"Faster, Cullen," Whitlock groans through clenched teeth. "Fuck me harder."

And I have to stop again 'cause those words alone are enough to make me almost come.

I look down at myself, at my cock buried deep in his ass – and I have to close my eyes tight 'cause the sight alone is enough to make me almost come.

Whitlock is still jacking off despite my lack of stamina, and he's groaning and cursing and his hips are shifting a little, making his ass slide against me and clench even more –

"I'm gonna come soon..."

Fuck, this is embarrassing. I can't even last ten minutes.

Whitlock groans, his hand still pumping his cock. "Me too. Keep fucking me. Hard."

I can't hold it in any longer anyway.

I pull out – fast.

Push back in – hard.

And we groan simultaneously.

I continue doing this, pounding into him, my hips slamming into his hips, balls slapping against his balls.

The tingling sensation in my balls starts to grow, intensify, spreading down to my toes and up to my scalp. My hair feels like it's standing on end. My legs feel like they've been numb and my blood is just starting to rush through them again. My cock is being hugged tight by Whitlock's ass, throbbing with each thrust, and I can feel my orgasm at the very tip.

"Jasper…"

"Keep going."

"I'm really close."

" _Fuck_ … me too…"

"This feels so… so fucking good…"

"I know." – he gasps – "harder, I'm almost there."

A few irregular thrusts later and I'm coming – harder than I've ever come before in my life. It feels like I'm about to lose myself completely, erupt into a cloud of atoms, and wouldn't that be a fucking _euphoric_ way to die?

I'm so high I don't even realize Whitlock came too, not even sure whether it was before or after me.

He's breathless, panting with his head still leaning against the wall, his hand now hanging limp by his side.

We take a few minutes to catch our breath and then slowly I pull out of him, pulling off the condom and tying up the end. I toss it into a wastepaper basket by the door and get back in the shower.

Whitlock's standing right under the stream of water, brushing his hair back from his face.

He tugs me towards him by my forearm so we're both under the water, chests touching.

He leans forward and kisses me. Smirks. Blue eyes hold mine. "Not bad, Cullen," he says.

The water's not even hot anymore, cooler than lukewarm even, and I'm kinda cold but still, I feel my ears grow hot and my face flush.

"You know what you forgot to do though?" he asks.

"What?"

His smile widens. "Pull my hair."

-x-

"I like you, Cullen," he says, eyes boring into me.

I blush. Clear my throat. Can't meet his eyes. "I uh, I… Me too."

He chuckles, grabbing me by the hair and kissing me roughly. "You wanna do this again?" he asks when he pulls away, his mouth still close enough so our lips brush. "I mean, like, on a regular basis."

I nod.

He smiles, kisses me a little more before letting go of my hair and lying on his back, next to me. We both stare up at the ceiling.

"So," he says after a while. "We're gonna keep this thing a secret, right?"

I nod.

"Why?"

"I told you, I'm not ready."

"Ok," he says.

We have another long moment of ceiling watching.

"Besides," I say. "I don't see _you_ telling everyone you're gay."

He smirks, turning on his side again to look at me. Raises his eyebrows in a smug way. "Rosalie Hale and all the cheerleaders know, and I doubt they'll keep it a secret." He jerks a shoulder. "Not that I wanna hide it anyway."

"Oh… Well, the guys on the team don't know."

He shrugs again, lying on his back and putting his hands under his head. "That's just 'cause they ain't asked. They'll hear it from the cheerleaders soon enough, ask me if it's true, and when they do I'm not gonna lie about it."

"Don't you care that they might look at you differently?"

He turns his head to look at me, eyes bright and _scrutinizing_. "Not really," he says. He pauses. "Is _that_ what you're afraid of?"

I swallow. Look away from him and back up to the ceiling. I'm pissed that he finds it so easy and I don't. Envious that he doesn't care what people think of him and I do. I've always told myself that I haven't come out because there's no point, because Forks didn't appear to have any gay guys for me to date anyway, but deep down I know it's not true. Well, it's true but it's not the only reason, and certainly not the most important.

"That and a ton of other things," I answer.

We're both silent for a long time.

And then I feel his hand fumbling, searching underneath the comforter – and he grabs my hand, clasps it tight.

"Hey," he says.

I turn my head in his direction but don't meet his eyes.

"I'm only fucking with ya about the whole coming out thing. You know that, right?"

I shrug.

"Do it whenever you're ready. And… And I'll be here, if you need me. For anything."

"Thanks."

He squeezes my hand, and tentatively, I lift my eyes up to look at him.

He winks.

I grin.

-x-

We're in the locker rooms, all changed for the game, about to go out on the field.

"Alright, boys," Coach Banner says with a grin. "Get out there and win. We know damn well those Sequim Wolves ain't got nothing on us. McCarty," – he looks at Emmett – "as Quarterback you know you've got the responsibility of making sure this game gets off to a good start. I'm counting on you."

Emmett nods. "Yes, sir."

"Cullen, Whitlock, we've already got an advantage over the Wolves with two Running Backs. Not to mention how fast you both are. Make sure you're clear on which one of you is blocking and which one of you is running, and whoever is running better stay close to McCarty." He points an index finger at both of us. "And I definitely don't wanna see any more fights or hear about people tackling their own team members out there, got it?"

I nod. "Yes, sir."

Whitlock grins. "Sure, Coach. Me and Cullen," – he slaps me on the back – "have sorted out our differences."

"Good," Banner says. "That's what I like to hear. Now, strap on your helmets and let's go kick some wolf ass!"

There's a collective cheer from the team, before we start strapping on helmets and filing out of the locker room.

Jacob Black gives my ass a slap as he jogs past.

Gives Whitlock one too.

Gives Emmett a _double_ slap, right on each cheek – which Emmett returns.

"Good luck, dudes!" he yells on his way out.

Whitlock sidles up next to me, and I can see his white teeth through the bars of his helmet as he grins.

"Ok, so you're running and I'm blocking, right?" he asks – still grinning.

I ignore his question. Give him a suspicious sideways look. "What's funny?"

"Nothing. Except for the fact that your gaydar _is_ really shitty isn't it?"

I frown, confused. "What're you talking about?"

Whitlock inclines his head towards the door we're all walking out of.

"You weren't the only gay guy on the team before I got here. Jus' Sayin'."

"What? Who else is gay?"

He laughs. Lifts his eyebrows in disbelief. "C'mon, man. Seriously?"

"Who, Emmett? Is this 'cause of the ass slapping thing?" I shake my head. "Nah, we all do that to each other, it's just this thing we do for luck –"

"Yeah, I get that," he interrupts. I see his eyes rolling. "And I don't mean Emmett." He tilts his head closer to mine as he whispers, "Black."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yep."

"How'd you know?"

He shrugs. "I can just tell. Told ya, my gaydar's good." He turns to look at me. "And I don't know how the hell you or anyone else doesn't notice this, but he's totally got a thing for Emmett."

I smirk. "Seriously?"

He laughs, adjusts his helmet, slaps my ass – _hard,_ and starts jogging away.

And of course, my eyes can't help drifting down to his ass. His firm, round, muscular ass covered in white spandex – his ass that I fucked, just yesterday…

And that's when I notice.

Whitlock's running a little funny.

He's running like… well, like his ass got fucked, just yesterday.

And I can't help laughing.

He glances over his shoulder at me, blond ponytail whipping round as he does. "What?"

"Nothing," I say. "But yeah, I'll run and you block," – I snort – "you don't look like you can handle much running today."

I can't see his face through his helmet anymore but I'm guessing he's pretty embarrassed. He starts scratching his jaw and he only does that – he told me – when he's nervous, or embarrassed.

I hear him chuckle. See him shake his head. Flip me off. "Whatever, Cullen."

I laugh again.

Serves him right.

 _I'm_ the fucking Running Back anyway.

-x-


End file.
